Pari Passu
by Shaitanah
Summary: [Uchiha MadaraShodai Hokage] Years of solitude, denial and mutual attraction – that’s what keeps them together. The rise and fall of Uchiha Madara.  Please R&R!
1. This Is Where It Starts

**Title**: "Pari Passu" (1/3)

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: NC-17 (angst, yaoi, violence)

**Summary**[Uchiha Madara/Shodai Hokage Years of solitude, denial and mutual attraction – that's what keeps them together. The rise and fall of Uchiha Madara. Please R&R!

**Disclaimer**: _Naruto_ belongs to Kishimoto Masashi and whoever else that is not me… Some facts from Madara's past were taken from the famous Uchiha Clan's Dark Destiny theory, but most part of the background story is mine.

**A/N**: Mostly my own ideas of what the pre-Naruto Konoha could be like. Kishimoto-san would probably ruin my plotline should he delve into Madara's past, but so far I tried to keep things as "canon" as possible. _Pari passu_ is a Latin expression that means "hand-in-hand", "at the same time".

**A/N2**: Years ago the head of the Hyuuga clan had a fight with the Daimyō and joined the rebellion organized by a powerful warrior known as the General. The rebellion was crushed, and the small army led by the General fled the country and knocked about the world in search of a peaceful place to found their own settlement. With them went the two sons of the General and an illegitimate son of the Hyuuga known by the name Madara.

* * *

**PARI PASSU**

_In this tainted soul_

_In this weak young heart_

_Am I too much for you?_

Skunk Anansie_. 'Weak'_

_

* * *

_

**Part 1**

_**This Is Where It Starts…**_

White moon glowing softly above them, the boys ran through the forest, farther and farther away from the camp. Tearing through the thicket, they laughed at the screeching of the night birds frightened by the noise. Wings rustled as they flew up. High grass whipped at the boys' faces, only causing them to laugh gleefully once more.

They came to a halt by the river where the brittle stems were not as tall and crept over the ground like a carpet.

Clad in light summer kimonos, the boys took up fighting positions and sparred, laughing and throwing humorous insults at each other.

"This time, Madara-kun, I'm going to prove myself to you!" one of the boys chirped gleefully.

"Less talk, more action, you clumsy idiot," his comrade teased.

He moved speedily towards his opponent, light breeze ruffling his thick ebony hair that stuck up in the back a little. The other boy squatted and formed a few seals, spitting, _"Mokuton no Jutsu!"_ almost angrily. Madara turned a somersault in the air; a thick branch tore through the ground and aimed to grab him. The youth rode it, trying to keep his balance. He hopped off, copying the move his opponent had executed previously.

The branch coiled like a snake and suddenly punched him in the face. By all standards, it was an unjust blow. Madara scowled at the laughing boy.

"Is it true that your father was a demon king?" the youth asked.

Madara wiped his bloodied lip on the sleeve of his kimono and skewed his eyes up on his partner. Usually such questions made his blood boil with cold rage. As any man of dark past, he loathed the kind of attention he got. However, something in the way his friend looked at him made him change his mind. Something close to mischief flashed instantly in his dark eyes.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Are you going to tell me?" The youth knitted his eyebrows and gave him a typical "as if" glare. Madara smirked.

"Come here. I'll tell you a secret."

His voice, heavy and strangely seductive, ran in shivers down the young shinobi's spine. He gulped down nervously and walked up cautiously. His eyes never left Madara's face. In a blur of speed he lunged at his opponent, his blade sliding rapidly over Madara's blade. Within an instant he had Madara pinned against the massive trunk of a tree, his hand locked tightly over his friend's throat.

"Heh! Beat you!"

Madara's voice came in a short breathless gasp: "Oh really?"

The youth felt the edge of the other katana slide between his legs. Before Madara could drive it upwards, he pulled away with a startled cry. His opponent chuckled triumphantly.

"Laugh all you like!" the youth spat vehemently. "Someday I'm going to be great. They will call me First–."

"First what? Loser?"

The remark earned Madara another spiteful glare. He coughed; blood trickled down the bruised lip again. He disrobed quickly and walked into the river. Water flowing gently around his heated body, he took a few small steps, his feet grinding the fragments of broken shells into the soft silt. A few paces away from him there stood his friend, his long sleek hair hanging in heavy wet strands over his shoulders. Deep furrows ran down his stomach and disappeared below the water. Madara couldn't bring himself to remember those scars.

The young shinobi shuddered when Madara's hand came down on his shoulder and slid down gently. His fingers flitted over the scars as if he were afraid to actually touch them. 'First…' he thought with a darkly humorous smile. 'So be it, then.'

"Where are those from? I can't recall you having them."

The First shrugged. "We are at war."

"This is a man's body," Madara commented. The First gasped softly as the youth's fingertips brushed his spine.

Madara came closer, so close that he could feel the heat that the First's skin radiated. The faint aroma of sweat mixed with the scent of the river mud and fresh water made him feel a little dizzy. He bit his lower lip, enjoying the texture of his friend's skin, light bronze, kissed by sunlight after so many weeks of travel. The only thing that ruined its smoothness were the rough patches of the scars. Madara grazed one of the scars with his nail. The youth inhaled sharply.

"At first I thought it looked nice," he murmured vaguely. "More mature, you know. But we're too young to rush our years."

"You really are afraid to lose, aren't you?" Madara whispered in his ear. A damp lock of the First's hair ran over his shoulder. Madara lowered his head and brushed his lips against the soft skin, and flicked his tongue over that lock too, sucking in the tasteless moisture. "Don't be. Our losses make us stronger."

The First turned to face him. His lips half-parted, the haze of excitement in his eyes, he still managed to keep his countenance as he said gravely:

"No, they don't. To think I might lose someone precious to me… my little brother, or even you–."

Madara chuckled. "Then I'd say it's the fear of losing that keeps us going."

He strode back to the bank leisurely.

"Always so cold, Madara-kun, huh?"

The youth compressed his lips bitterly and gave no reply.

* * *

Despite the hardships of the field life, Madara liked traveling. Shinobis of many noble clans had united to fight for the liberation of the country that had been devastated by never-ending wars. Another battle against the avid Daimyō lost, they had fled the country, seeking peace. Madara who was a natural son of the ancient Hyuuga clan had joined the voyage. The warriors marched across the land searching for a place to establish their settlement, engaged in ferocious battles and taken over with elegant ease.

Power was something to be admired. Madara watched and learnt, and soon everyone had come to think of him as an arrogant loner, talented and self-absorbed. Madara lived up to his aristocratic heritage: proud and reserved, he strove to prove himself not only as one of the shinobi, but as the best one. It wasn't that hard when he had only one true rival – his closest comrade.

In time they had ceased to view him as "that Hyuuga bastard". The Hyuuga never officially accepted him into the family. He was nobody, and he bore a different name. In the aftermath of a certain event the youth had sworn to glorify the name Uchiha and make it known worldwide.

It happened during the mountain crossing. The group got attacked by the hostile shinobi at a small frozen lake. Red-tinted snow-flakes fell solemnly upon the ice cover. Screams echoed through the mountain range, floating heavily in the air.

Madara never ran away from war. He embraced it as one would embrace the daily routine, no more troublesome or dangerous than an importunate insect. The clanking of blades never haunted him in his sleep. Blood and gore never petrified him. The wheezing sound torn out of a dying man's throat never made his heart ache. To him, war was a winding path he had to walk in order to excel.

His eyes felt strange in their sockets, somewhat unfamiliar. He saw three man assaulting the group commander. They moved at full speed, faster than a human eye could detect, yet Madara was able to read their actions clearly.

One of the reasons the Hyuuga had rejected him was that he possessed no Byakugan, the crucial point to being part of the clan. His eyes were midnight black instead of the usual white. He had developed a habit of casting them downward when talking to a Hyuuga.

These eyes that possessed no special powers, if only sharp eyesight, commanded him to move. As though a drop of thick blood dissolved in a bowl of milk, and a red film covered everything. He was consumed by it. Madara flung himself in front of their General, shielding him, and slashed at the attackers ruthlessly. He _knew_, he could predict their every move. The pulsation in his eyes grew stronger.

They fell on their knees before him. He smiled coldly. He wanted them to look into his new murderous eyes before he would have claimed their lives.

Blood rained down on the snow. Madara lowered his head and saw his reflection in the shimmering ice. His eyes were blood-red and cloudy, strange black drops floating around his pupils. The eyes that personified his power. Mesmerized, he failed to notice a treacherous blow of the katana directed towards him. The blade hit the ice, producing a deep crack. Madara hissed viciously and leapt aside. His head imploded with sudden pain that rushed along his neurons like a lightening bolt. His eyes began to sting. The next thing he knew he was dangling in the dark water closing in on him. Panic-stricken, he forgot how to move.

It seemed ridiculous to discover the power of such potential and die the next instant. Madara struggled to swim, but the heavy armour was tugging him down.

Someone grabbed him by the hand. He kicked hard and pushed up, trying to get free of the breastplate. Finally, he succeeded. His saviour helped him climb a thick floating piece of ice. Madara coughed, spitting water. He was shaking violently. His eyes hurt no more, but he felt like his chakra was completely drained. And he hadn't even performed any complicated ninjutsu!

Brushing the heavy fringe off his face, he looked up at his saviour. The son of the shinobi he'd protected. The boy with sleek dark hair and kind eyes. The one who called himself Madara's friend.

Madara compressed his lips tightly. He would have preferred to owe his life to somebody else.

The boy smiled warmly. Madara snorted in appreciation of the favour and looked away.

Such was the day when "that Hyuuga bastard" was officially acknowledged as Uchiha Madara. There was no visible change in the way he was treated by his comrades: the Hyuuga still shunned him and the others didn't pay him much heed. However, _something_ was different. And Madara didn't mind the change at all.

* * *

He lay quietly next to the First. The sky above them was dark blue, stained with occasional scattering of silvery stars. Shreds of greyish clouds flowed by.

The ground still treasured the touch of summer sun. Madara accommodated himself on the warm bedding of leaves and wrapped his cloak around him. The night fell upon him like a soft blanket. Surrounded by the chirping of crickets, the heavy scent of dry roots and fusty leaves, and the sleepy breathing of his friend, Madara was at peace.

"How come you have no scars?" the youth had asked him earlier that day.

Madara had merely shrugged. "I guess I'm lucky."

He recollected the taste of the First's skin and the heavy lock of his hair trapped between Madara's lips. He looked away from the dormant youth, back at the sky again.

Scars were the mark of loss, and Madara had lost nothing at these eternal wars. He had always only gained.

* * *

The day the General was killed the makeshift council of the grey-haired warriors proclaimed the First should lead the group on. The youth answered in grateful and respectful words that he accepted the duty. Enclosed in the ring of the enemy lines, they had to be extra careful; yet the quest should have gone on.

The next day, just after the funeral, Madara found him alone on the edge of a grove far away from the camping site. He didn't cry. He had never cried in Madara's memory. His back unnaturally rigid, he watched the stars, motionless and beautiful like a statue of a great warrior. It was then that Madara realized the wisdom of the old ones: this one should have rightfully succeeded his father.

"I can command no army," the First murmured as though having read his thoughts. "A small three-man squad or so would be all right with me, but the responsibility for so many lives, and the women, and the children too, is just so much bigger than me! A person like you would cope with it much better. But this kind of power if of no concern to you, isn't it?"

Madara folded his hands over his chest. The fading starlight bled white over the First's face. The handsome face obscured by the mask of grief fascinated Madara. He wanted to lick the moonlight icing off his skin.

"Would you like to know what I think? I think you're a whiny little mama's boy and you're not worth a shit without your father's guidance. I'll pray to gods to put you out of your despicable misery."

The youth span around, his form completely swallowed by shadows. The whites of his eyes gleamed ferociously in the dark. The vein on his temple was pulsing with rage. Madara's tone was disgustingly even.

Suddenly the First's face broke into a grin. "Oh _really_?"

Madara snorted and lowered himself beneath the tree. Things were always so easy with the First.

* * *

The late commander's junior son was a handsome lad with unruly fair hair and daring honey-brown eyes. He never held back in argument, especially with someone he strongly disliked. Someone like Madara. Madara treated him like a nuisance until the young one finally challenged him in the open.

"I advise you to withdraw," Madara replied calmly. "I'm in no mood for games, boy."

"I'll teach you manners, you demon's spawn!"

He rushed at Madara, fingers flitting in a wild dance. A high wall of water rose around the two of them and spilled against Madara. He called upon the force of fire and made the water run dry before the whirlpool engulfed him. The kunai flew at random in his direction. None hit the target. The boy was simply showing off his power.

That angered Madara. He despised foolish games. He intercepted one of the kunai and tossed it back at its owner; the sharp tip passed the youth's eye by a hair's breadth. Madara's eyes awakened to power once again. His cold gaze was fixed on the boy's face. He knew by the other's vacant expressions that the youth was trapped in his intricately woven genjustu.

"Weak little one," Madara laughed quietly to himself. To cast genjutsu without seals was not unheard of but still uncommon. Like a hawk that had finally learnt to fly, Madara spread his wings and was about to reach the unthinkable heights.

The boy moaned plaintively. He couldn't move; the air itself shackled him and held him in place.

"Your brother may call himself the First," Madara whispered maliciously. "But you shall never be more than the Second."

A powerful voice cut through the veil of illusion, thundered in Uchiha's ears.

"What is the meaning of this? Madara-kun! Release him!"

The genjutsu dispelled. His legs wobbling, the boy sank on the ground. The men eyed him in mute astonishment.

Madara snorted. "He will not always have you under his wing, nestling. When you're a man, come seek me out; we'll settle our scores."

He walked past his fallen opponent and turned away, avoiding the First's inquiring gaze. His eyes felt heavy and watery, as if filled with blood to the brim. His heartbeat out of control, he started off and soon reached the dark edge of the field. From the hilltop he could see the campfires flare one by one in the twilight. He paced by a branchy tree like a caged animal. Anxiety gripped him.

That breathtaking power was a double-edged sword. Each time his eyes grew stronger even if the new jutsu drained his chakra mercilessly and left him with occasional headaches to battle.

Come nightfall, the First sought him out. He probably expected apologies. Madara turned his back on him and said nothing. He only minded his aggressive mood swings in the First's company but he paid no heed to the rest of the group.

Madara could sense his presence acutely. The First spoke; the sound of his voice, ever so gentle and mild, annoyed Madara.

He wanted his young General subdued, destroyed by the power of his feelings towards him, as volatile and ferocious as the forces of nature.

"Shut up!" he uttered in a low growl. The First paused and narrowed his eyes. Madara closed the distance between them rapidly, and shoved his fingers into the First's hair, and pulled his head back. The First gasped in protest. Towering over him, Madara leaned into him and clamped his lips roughly over the First's lips. Fire spread through his body. How long had he wanted this?

He forced the youth down on his knees and followed him slowly. He tugged at the belt of his kimono impatiently. He unlaced it and slid his hand in the creases of the rough material. His fingers grazed the First's ribcage; he brushed them gently over his spine and touched the scars again. The First moaned into his mouth.

Madara ripped the kimono open and lavished the youth's chest with greedy open-mouthed kisses, savouring the feel of his flesh against his lips. He kisses, and licked, and nipped; he locked his teeth around the skin over the First's rib, and it drew a harsh moan out of the young man's throat.

Madara positioned his knee between the First's legs and pushed it upwards. The youth growled through gritted teeth. That guttural, almost bestial sound thundered in Madara's ears, destroying the rest of his reserve. He loved the First's voice at that moment: strained, passionate, pleading.

He failed to notice when the First had gone from limp stillness to feverish resistance. He bucked, writhed, struggled with every muscle of his body. Madara's body pressed hard against his rocked in tune. He pinned the other's wrists to the ground, his hips pressed down, his legs wider apart, and fought to keep things that way. He jerked the remaining clothes off and struggled to dispose of his.

The First managed to free one hand and grabbed the front of Madara's kimono. Madara peeled his fingers off ever so gently though in his current state he would have rather broken them. He twirled his tongue between the First's fingers; he closed his eyes and felt the First rub against him almost incoherently.

Madara clenched his teeth. He wanted to explore every inch of his body with his hands and lips and tongue. He wanted fall himself into the First, to bury himself within his body. He pressed his lips hard against the First's muscular belly and wrote, "mine" with his tongue over and over again until they both believed it. He took the First into his mouth, played his tongue over him, enjoying the taste and the unfamiliar feeling and the music of the First's outcries.

He drew back, panting, vermilion haze before his eyes, and he was aware that somehow his Sharingan had flared back to life again. The First propped up on his elbows and sat, breathing heavily. Their eyes met. The First drew forward and planted a quick shy kiss upon Madara's lips. Madara grasped a fistful of his hair and jerked hard enough that it tore a scream out of the young man's throat. He covered his neck with kisses, nipping at the skin crudely, growling with desire against it.

He was free of his own clothes. He noticed it only when he felt the First's fingers dance over the low of his abdomen. The First ground his hips against Madara, looking almost desperate. Madara laughed throatily. It was a rich, masculine sound that he knew his friend had always loved.

For a moment he thought he could hear two hearts beat in perfect unison. He drove himself inside the First, harder, deeper; withdrew and plunged back in frantically. The youth threw his arms around Madara, pressing their bodies together, caught Madara's lower lip between his lips and sucked on it, and drove his teeth into the fullness of it.

Madara broke the kiss off with a start. Their bodies seemed to melt one into another, in the grip of fever. Their thoughts unclear, they strove to keep the pounding rhythm; the First groaned and attempted to muffle the sound, burying his face on Madara's shoulder.

"Oh please," Madara said breathlessly, "do scream."

A low harsh cry spilled out of the First's mouth. He raked his nails down Madara's back and screamed his name. They writhed on the soft ground as Madara thrust harder and harder into him, his rhythm unsteady, brutal, hasty, and then they both climaxed, groaning as if the sound itself hurt their throats.

Madara froze and then withdrew slowly. He lay panting, one arm thrown possessively over his friend's chest. Scratched, bruised, covered in sweat, they were still shaking, their breathing uneven.

Madara swallowed forcefully and turned to regard his friend. Damp locks of hair stuck to the First's face like streaks of wet paint to a silken canvas.

"If you tell anyone, I'll kill you!"

They eyed each other in a brief moment of shock, having realized they'd said the same thing at the same time. The First broke down laughing then and Madara joined; he pressed his forehead against the First's one and reveled in the warmth of his embrace. Their limbs intertwined, they lay on the grass, drunk on ecstasy. They fell asleep at dawn, blissfully exhausted.


	2. This Is Where It Will End

**Title**: "Pari Passu" (2/3)

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: NC-17 (angst, yaoi, violence)

**Summary**[Uchiha Madara/Shodai Hokage Years of solitude, denial and mutual attraction – that's what keeps them together. They found their peace in the village of the Leaf, but the war goes on and Madara is no longer the same. Perhaps he never was. Please R&R!

**Disclaimer**: _Naruto_ belongs to Kishimoto Masashi and whoever else that is not me… Some facts from Madara's past were taken from the famous Uchiha Clan's Dark Destiny theory, but most part of the background story is mine.

**A/N**: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys are the best! XDDD

* * *

**Part 2**

…_**This Is Where It Will End**_

Over the mountain ridges and dark forests where tree trunks glowed ghostly blue in the night, over the mossy rocks and chilly streams where the sun shone in a hot blur amidst the azure sky, on they went, farther and farther away from the bloody conflicts of the feudal lords. Over a year had passed since the day the commander had gathered his army and led the men and what women and children had wished to follow away from the grudges of the Daimyō and his dogs.

The commander had fallen; his sons endured. Some gave up and insisted they should be left behind. Some died in battle or fell victims to fatal diseases that had no chance to be cured during the march. The First drove his formation forth persistently as if afraid to give the men some rest.

And finally…

The sun trickled down Madara's pallid face, warm and generous, licking his skin like a gentle kisser. He squinted, enjoying the caressing touch of the rays. His eyes gleamed scarlet in the sunlight; his black silken mane was cut roughly just below his jawline – the result of a brutal fight just a few days ago. His cranberry-shaded armour was stained with mud and gore, the sleeves of his military kimono torn and patched up crudely.

A valley lay at his feet. The First glanced at him, smiling, and Madara felt his lips part responsively.

The valley was bathed in soft morning fog, sweet drops of dew glistening over the emerald grass.

"Here," the First whispered and when Madara nodded curtly, he repeated louder for everyone to hear: "Here shall be our village."

The men standing a few paces away whispered in querulous voices, protesting against such an unreasonable choice. A grey-headed man with a scarred face parted from the group and spoke somewhat reproachfully:

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, General-sama; however, this place is too out in the open. It is protected by a single rock on one side and is completely defenseless elsewhere. Should the enemy discover our whereabouts, we shall be an easy prey."

The First turned to regard the soldier with a small smile. Madara snorted quietly.

"By nightfall you will not recognize this place, I promise you that."

They left in silence, all but Madara. He stood beside his friend, his hands folded over his chest. The First formed the seals elegantly and breathed forcefully, "Mokuton no Jutsu!"

The ground beneath them started shaking. Crooked roots sprang forth; they grew longer and thicker. Sprouts broke through the grass; leaves came unfolded on the growing stems, burgeons leaking with juice turned into bright, luminous flowers. Soft glow pulsed around the petals.

Fruit ripened and exploded, scattering new seeds about; those seeds also sprouted, continuing the speedy circle of life. Trees consumed the open space, forming a rich beautiful forest around the unprotected valley.

Madara gazed upon this in wonder and admiration. He had no idea how far the First had gone with his magnificent jutsu. He had developed it in secret and now revealed it as the art of creating life.

The First laughed heartily, feasting his eyes upon the festival of flora. A branch crept over the ground towards his feet. He hopped onto it and held out his hand. Madara grasped it and the branch shot upwards. Together they flew high above the breathing jade ocean. The scent of newborn foliage was overwhelming. Every shade of green sparkled in the sunlight. Emerald leaves hung down in fluffy brushes; smooth silky plants spread out far and wide like roofs of ancient pagodas; clusters of buds quivered in the light breeze like party lanterns tied together with a single ribbon. Red, blue, yellow, purple, all the wondrous flowers glowed softly with their own inner light. It seemed they were blown out of coloured glass. Enchanted, Madara couldn't take his eyes off them. Strange inflorescences brought back the memory of white chrysanthemums his mother used to love; delicate dots of cherry blossom intertwined with milky white bindweed; small asters crushed down the trunks in silvery waterfalls. Everywhere, there was light. Blinded by the glory of the newbown forest, Madara closed his eyes.

He drew back and felt the branch beneath him disappear. Falling through the air, he spread his arms like wings, reveling in the newfound feeling of freedom. He could fly. If only for a moment, he knew he could.

The snakelike branch caught him in his fall. He lay back, exhaling softly, and smiled as he felt the presence of his friend by his side. It seemed that he was looking at him for the first time in his life.

The First raised his fist and whispered passionately: "Here's to the future!"

"To the future!" Madara echoed. The forest around them carried on growing till sunset. They lay on the hard, broad branch and watched its birth with dreamy eyes.

At sunset the men returned and could not believe their eyes. Even the young General's brother looked thoroughly taken aback. His chakra drained by the jutsu, the First could barely stand. He greeted his men and said:

"On the other side of this forest there lies a valley that shall be our home. I hereby name the village that is to be built there…" He paused and glanced at the dance of bright-green leaves in the wind. "The Hidden Leaf Village!"

* * *

Seasons came and went. Spring passed unnoticed into a sultry summer which then retreated for the sake of a golden autumn that soon yielded to a frosty winter. Then spring succeeded to it again, and the village kept growing; new houses shot like mushrooms on a rainy day. A temple rose down the river bend. There the young General, now known as the Founder, prayed to gods for peace and prosperity for his new home.

In summer he received the title of the governor of the Hidden Leaf Village. The people called him Hokage, the Fire Shadow. Shortly after that the Founder got married.

Autumn came, and the wall around the village was finished. The Founder stood at the tall gate looking at the wide road that led to Konohagakure and smiled.

Leaves fell in showers of ruby and gold. On the last sunny day before the rains started to pour Madara married a young maiden remotely related to the Hyuuga. His choice had come a surprise even to the First. The girl's father mistrusted Madara; however, the man was a gifted shinobi and a reliable person despite his young age and mysterious origin.

In the evening during the celebration the First came to congratulate his friend and found him by the Nakano temple far away from where the party was held.

"She's quite good-looking," Madara replied to his well-wishing. "She's modest, intelligent, and she's of a fine blood. She'll make a good spouse."

"You speak of marriage as if it's choosing a mare!" the First exclaimed, taken aback. At that, Madara only snorted coolly.

* * *

Uchiha Yukiko was a delicate girl with long black hair she preferred to wear loose and huge dark eyes. By all standards, she could have been Madara's sister.

She loved her husband dearly and never argued with him. Spiteful ill-wishers said she had no will of her own. Madara rarely spoke of his wife. At times he seemed to forget he even had one. However, he defended her honour fiercely whenever someone said anything offensive about her.

Now that he had someone else's well-being to bear in mind, Madara relinquished his half-civilized military way of life and built a fine house of stone on the outskirt of the village. A small pine-tree grove spread in the background. The setting sun would paint the shaggy tops in gold; sometimes Yukiko would sit silently beside her husband and they would watch the sunset together.

Days of peace did not last long. The Fire Country joined the war against some of its neighbours. The Daimyō called out for help, and the Hidden Leaf Village offered its service. It was still new and relatively poor, and war, after all, had always been shonobis' preferable business.

The Founder's wife was a kunoichi; she left on a mission as a member of the squad led by the Hokage's brother. The First himself remained in the village. The reports that came from the battlefield were far from pleasant. More and more indispensable ninja fell. That weakened Konoha. One day Madara rose during the conference and appealed to the council:

"Our men view protection of our home as a secondary task, a temporary job that is more troublesome than actual fighting. We send the wounded back home to take up the temporary position of guards; upon their recovery they happily go back to their primary duties. We have no isolators, no permanent court system; we keep no nominal rolls of the prisoners-of-war. We still abide by the primitive laws of military campaigns. Back then we were an army. We answered to one man, the General." With that, he glanced at the Founder who skewed up his eyes suspiciously. "He is now our Hokage. We strive to build a peaceful society, but we have no order. I suggest we separate soldiers from guards. Let the first perform their direct duties; the others must remain here to keep an eye on the village. We need our own police department unless we want the Daimyō to send his narks here. And that _will_ happen unless we have order."

Madara left the room satisfied. The elders and the Hokage accepted his proposition. He was soon to become the head of the Konoha police department.

"Madara-kun!" Uchiha came to a halt and listened without turning his head. "Would you care to explain? I've known you for years; you do nothing without a reason. You do not expect me to believe you've made this proposition purely out of the goodness of your heart, do you?"

"Am I really that bad?" Madara smirked. The First surveyed him with a hard, inquiring gaze.

In one leap, that which a human eye could hardly register, Madara ended up close to him. His forehead pressed against the First's forehead, he bellowed in a low irritable voice:

"What are you trying to prove, Shodai? Do you not trust me? Did we not lay the first stone of this village together? What's mine is yours, remember, and what's yours is mine!" He clenched his fist around the man's sleeve and glared at him with blazing red eyes.

"It's just that I know you too well," the Founder replied in conciliation.

Madara scowled. "You don't know me at all."

He kissed him greedily, pressing his body full length against the First's. swamped by sudden piercing desire, Madara breathed heavily into his mouth, sweeping his tongue over the First's palate, and tongue, and teeth, drawing in the slightly sour taste of his saliva. He hated the man so much right now for asking meaningless questions, for arguing with him, for thinking he knew him – and moreover, for _really_ knowing him well enough. He hated him and loved him, and hated to love him, and loved to hated him, and wanted, wanted him _so much_…

He drew back and the First clutched at the front of his tunic wearily and pulled him back into another searing kiss.

"I may be selfish," Madara murmured afterwards, "I may have my own reasons for everything I do. But don't try to pretend you're so different from me. You care about these people, don't you? Of course you do. But have you ever asked yourself why you care about them so much? Isn't it all a matter of proving yourself to the world? Live up to your father's expectations, set an example for your little brother… So don't tell me I'm being egoistic."

He stormed out, enraged, confused, exhausted. His eyes boiled with power and hurt like hell.

* * *

He lay in the mud surrounded by the black flame that burnt through any kind of obstacle. Dead bodies were piled around him. Blood and gore stuck to his face, rained down his hair.

As the captain of the Konoha police force Madara rarely left the village. However, too many jounins had gotten themselves killed, the useless fools they had been; the Hokage had dispatched a squad led by Madara to settle some business beyond the borders of the Fire Country.

His Sharingan prevailed. No matter what, it always did. Madara caught his breath and slowly walked out of the broken circle of fire. He looked around. The battle had been a massacre; no one had survived.

His throat dry and sore, he staggered slowly forward without having the faintest idea where he was going. A dim light flickered up ahead. After giving it a bit more thought Madara decided to head towards it. He could still feel Yukiko's cool lips on his cheek and her quiet voice as she whispered: "Please come back safe." He could see the Shodai's dark eyes as he longed to accompany him on the mission – just like good old times.

He could hear the crowing of ravens that haunted his dreams…

Madara felt weak. Even with those incredible eyes and the numerous jutsu he had worked out, he was still weak. He had always felt someone else's presence by his side, someone breathing down his neck. He knew he wouldn't stand a chance against his demons. He was a hawk with a broken wing, trying to reach the top, to rise higher than the stars…

Higher and higher he climbed along the winding path covered in whitish heather that reminded him strangely of mould. He walked up to the stone stairs carved into the rock and saw a small temple. Its rectangular form stood out darkly against the lighter background. Filled with sudden trepidation, Madara entered.

It was warm inside the temple. He clenched and unclenched his numb fingers, and lowered himself on the floor and leaned against the wall. There was no one in sight. Madara's gaze fell upon the opposite wall, and he gasped. A monstrous thing was drawn roughly over the bare rock. It resembled a fox with flaming red eyes and nine whip-like tails. It snarled predatorily, and for a moment Madara thought it would leap off the wall and attack him.

A pile of scrolls lay beneath the fresco. The temple must have been prepared for evacuation, but abandoned in haste for some reason. Intrigued, Madara crouched by the wall and unrolled the scroll on top of the pile.

"Bijuu," it read, "the horrific tailed beasts that prey on human malice and sins…"

Madara recalled having heard a legend abound these monsters once in his childhood. People avoided saying their names aloud. Once uttered, the name would attract its bearer. Usually a sign to repel the unholy was made and a change of subject followed.

Madara kept reading, casting occasional glances at the wall. The fox remained where it had been placed by the masterful hand of the painter, yet its evil eyes continued scrutinizing Madara.

"Kyuubi no Kitsune," he read after a while, "the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox is the most powerful and brutal of the Bijuu…"

Madara gripped the shuriken, feeling someone's presence in the temple. He tossed the shuriken swiftly and turned to face a quivering man pinned to the wall by the hem of his orange robe. The elderly monk eyed him in utter terror.

"You are not welcome here," he breathed. "You… you are…"

"A shinobi of the Hidden Leaf," Madara cut him off. He gathered the scrolls and made his way towards the monk who gasped in reverent indignation.

"This is a scared place! You should not defile it! And these scrolls!.."

"Consider them a war trophy," Madara said, drawing his katana. The monk compressed his thin lips courageously. Madara plunged the blade into his flesh and twisted it several times. Blood splattered over the man's robe. Groaning, he slid down on the floor. Now that it was over, Madara felt nothing but despise.

"I thank you for your hospitality," he muttered and slit the monk's throat.

He reached Konoha in several days at night. He hid the scrolls at the Nakano Temple and went home. The noise must have awakened Yukiko; she ran out to meet him and looked at him terrified for he was still covered in blood. She reached out to stroke his cheek affectionately. He took her hand in his and kissed the tips of her fingers. Then, without looking at her, he vanished into the bedroom and fell asleep at once.

* * *

"It is spring," the Nidaime said, sitting on the window-sill in his brother's office.

The streets of Konoha came alive early in the morning, trolleys rolling heavily over the dusty roads, merchants crying out with glee. The wind howled in the tree tops like a dog begging for attention. The carvers knocked their hammers on the great rock that opposed the forest of the Founder. Later in the afternoon the Second would join them to polish the rock with his powerful water jutsu.

Children played in the street. It was still too early to be in class. The First walked up to the window and smiled. Here was the future of Konoha, the new generation of shinobi.

"They are all part of me," he said quietly.

The Second grinned. A slight frown wrinkled his face as he heard the footsteps at the door. One of the chuunins stormed in, panting.

"Hokage-sama! Please come with me! It's an emergency!"

The sun spilt generous rays over the limp body that lay like a rag doll at the foot of the great rock.

"Mokuchi-sama," the chuunin murmured quietly.

The First pursed his lips. Over a year had passed peacefully before this first murder. War had poisoned his men's mind.

"He was one of the Eastern monks that came a few months back," the chuunin informed readily. "And… a caretaker at the Nakano Temple."

"Find Uchiha-san," the First ordered.

The chuunin's face darkened. "We can't, Shodai-sama."

"What do you mean?" the Second demanded irritably. "Send somebody to his place if he's not on duty."

"Yukiko-san doesn't know where he is. We've already checked the temple. It looks like there was a fight."

The Second stared at the young chuunin in shock. "What!?"

The First gritted his teeth. He released the investigation group and ordered to keep searching for Madara until he was _found_.

"I don't understand," the Nidaime whispered, surveying the blood-stained walls of the temple. "They were monks, not bloody savages! How could they just?.. Brother!"

The First shook his head; in denial or rather in concern, it was hard to tell. 'Madara,' he pleaded wordlessly, 'what have you done?'

He interrogated Yukiko a few hours later only to learn she didn't feel well and wasn't ready to answer most of his queries.

"You do not think it was my husband, do you?" she murmured with trembling lips. "He is incapable of killing an innocent person."

The First kept his doubts to himself. The war had stained them all with blood in the very early years. He looked at her, waiting. Perhaps she lied. Perhaps she knew. Why had the monks engaged into that atrocious bloodshed? Why had their bodies been piled up in the temple? How come Mokuchi was found so far away from the temple, obviously half-way out of the village? Suddenly the Shodai felt like giving up. Certainly Madara's disappearance had nothing to do with the murders!

Yukiko pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. She looked pale and emaciated.

"Forgive me, Hokage-sama, but I must retire. I don't feel well."

The First wished her swift recovery and left. It seemed touching how affectionately, even protectively this petite frail woman spoke about her husband who seldom even mentioned her in conversation. Candlelight flickered in the windows. Hundreds of small rainbow-coloured candles were lit. The wind swung the gate lantern about.

"Where are you?" the Shodai whispered in desperation, looking at the tearful sky. "What are you playing at?"


End file.
